Trouble in New York
by troublesfriend
Summary: A girl heads back to NYC after a time away for *cough* undisclosed reasons and meets up with some old buddies, but they don't remember her, and there's a good reason.
1. Back in Brooklyn

A/N: In case you haven't realized this, none of the REAL newsies in the story are mine, except for the few I make up, and you'll be able to tell. And please, don't let Slick o' Brooklyn kick my ass, though by now she's undoubtedly tempted, I may be borrowing a few of her characters for kicks. So enjoy. Well now that I think about it I could probably take you, but you've got way more newsies to back you. *Author steps off her soap box and goes back to typing diligently*  
  
I strolled through the streets of Brooklyn on my way to Midtown. Sights and smells from long ago bombarded me, they were still the same. The pale blue sundress I was wearing flounced with each step and my bag weighed heavily on my shoulers. I couldn't wait to change! The only thing a dress is good for is hitching rides into town, but it's only safe if you've got a knife on your person. I was thinking about this when I heard it, the reason you needed to be armed if wearing a skirt or dress of any kind, it was the Brooklyn Newsboys. Now normally newsies aren't a problem, but these are the Brooklyn breed, dangerous in all ways and kinda desperate, if you get my drift. So, being a genius and not wanting to mingle, like I said, it could be dangerous, I crossed the street.  
  
Or at least I tried to, a horse-drawn buggie knocked me flat. Not only did I fall into oncoming traffic, but also into a puddle of mud (A/N: great band I must add.) I recovered, quickly, "Ey, I'm walking 'ere!" I yelled to the buggy.  
  
I heard a few remarks in return, but he turned a corner and was soon out of sight.  
  
The newsies saw my fall and a few ran out to me making sure I was okay, I told them I was, but you know boys, always overreacting...They crowded around, apparently a few of them are deaf because I had to repeatedly answer the same question. The mob that I had accidentally created was blocking traffic and eventually a lot of bumping and thwapping was to e had on my left, so I turned in that direction, watching as solid thunks of a gold-capped cane hit its mark and boys moved out of the way. A boy, shorter than me, but roughly the same aged looked me over. He was relatively short to be a leader I supposed, he wore a newsie's cap and his suspenders hung loosely at his sides, and in one hand he held the cane. "Who's this goil youse botherin'?"  
  
"We ain't botherin' 'er," a voice replied by my elbow.  
  
"Yeah Spot," another kid pitched in.  
  
The boy with golden red locks at my elbow continued, "She was jus' crossin' da road an' some buggy clipped 'er and she fell in da mud. We's just makin' sure she's okay."  
  
"You okay then Miss?" The leader, Spot asked.  
  
"Yeah," I replied and nodded to the majority of them, "Sorry, I's got to go." They parted and let me out where I immediately began to look for a place to change. Finding a niche in an alley, I stripped and pulled out my change of clothes. Trousers, a shirt, and suspenders. To top it all off, I wore a newsie's cap that hid my hair. I looked like a guy, and about damn time, I was sick of looking like a girl. It was crucial to change my appearance in order to go to work because being a girl is dangerous selling papes and waiting in line for them. I was running late, so I stuffed my wet dress back into my bag and set a jog for Central New York City.  
  
Fifteen minutes later I arrived amidst a gang of guys, the Midtown Newsies. They led the way to the Distribution office where I would get the papes so I could sell them. I made my way to the front and heard two voices I hadn't heard forever. I recognized them, though the three years we had spent apart made them older, they didn't recognize me.  
  
A/N: Thanks for reading, and don't forget to review, I love reviews! 


	2. A fight with Spot

A/N: Sorry Keza, the chicks got a history, she can't just be strolling around Brooklyn-wait I take that back, she can, but only until the gets to Manhattan, where the shit hits the theoretical fan. Sorry for my lack of creativity, it's an old story. Maybe I'll write a new one...  
  
Well only after this one cuz I guess a couple people actually like it. And hey, can any of you readers confirm where mangoes come from? It's a joke with a friend of mine and may take place in the story...  
  
And thanks Slick for saving my ass for another day, I know how you Brooklynites are. lol.  
  
Oh yeah, and just so you know, this story kinda follows the lines of the movie so its got the strike and Crutchy and everythin' I'm sure you remember. I just reread a crazy script cuz I haven't seen the movie in ages so if I mess up on something, let me know.  
  
So I hopped in line and bought myself a hundred papes, wouldn't you know, the price had gone up since I'd been here last. I sat down next to Racetrack and looked over the merchandise, you got to know a couple good headlines before you jump out in the crowd. Just then Race chuckled, "Two headed baby, must be from Brooklyn." That got a rise out of all of us close to hear him and he turned to me uneasily, "What are you laughin' at?"  
  
"Take it easy Race, joke was funny s'all, y'don' mind people laughin' at it do ya?"  
  
He peered at me sidewaysish, "I know you?"  
  
"Nah, just popped in, pro'bly movin' through."  
  
"Oh, you looked like someone--"  
  
Race didn't get to finish, Cowboy plopped between the two of us, what's goin' on here fellas?"  
  
"Nothin' much," I replied and turned back to the papers in front of me, even though I couldn't help feeling Race give me a sideways glance every now and then.  
  
Commotion over at the window caused us to look back, some kid, looked new to the business was dragging around his little brother and causing trouble. Cowboy got up to settle the matter. "C'mon Weasel, give the kid his pape."  
  
Weasel, the guy who handed out the newspapers glared at Cowboy from behind the bars as Cowboy counted the papers.  
  
"Yeah, there's on'y nineteen here, but that's okay, we all know Oscar can't count."  
  
Oscar lunged at him from behind Weasel. "Give him the pape." Weasel demanded.  
  
I turned my attention back to my papers and Cowboy joined us along with the two new boys. I stood up to leave, "Hey Race, this is Davey, and his lil' bro Les, guys, this is Racetrack. I'm Jack, and this is--" He paused searching my face. "I don't know you," he said finally.  
  
"Nah, the name's Fox though."  
  
"Okay. Nice to meet you, c'mon guys let's go." Jack, formerly known as Cowboy left with the two newcomers, it seemed he wasn't the only one who had changed his name.  
  
"Hey," Race had gotten up beside me, "you got a spot to sell at? Wanna sell with me down at the Races?"  
  
"Nah, I got m'own route."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"By the river."  
  
"That's where Spot sells."  
  
Spot, that was the kid from Brooklyn, this morning, damn, why was his name familiar? "This side of the bridge?" I asked confused.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well then I'd better get there first."  
  
"Well, if ya do run inta him, and fight, 'e's good with the fists and 'is cane."  
  
I laughed, I remembered the cane, "Don' worry, I'll be fine." I told him making my way to the gates.  
  
"Hey, meet up with me later?" He asked suddenly, "At the Races?"  
  
"Sure," I was heading in the opposite direction, "bye."  
  
I started off, anxious to get on my route before I ran into Spot. He looked to be the worst of the leaders of the Brooklyn Newsies gang, even if he was short. He looked tough, and Irish, not an overall good combination. I had sold almost all my papes, it doesn't take all that long when you make up good head lines, these ones were real crap. That was when I ran into Spot, not in a good area either, it was a back alley, if he had jumped me it would have been better to just curl up and die. Luckily he didn't, he came down the alley ready for a fight and totally pissed, but alone for the most part. "What's the big idea?" He growled coming at me.  
  
"Whadda ya mean?" I asked.  
  
"Why you sellin' in my territ'ry?"  
  
"Your territ'ry?" I repeated. "Your territ'ry is on the other side o' da bridge!"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You gotta a problem wid it?"  
  
"Yeah, youse on Manhattan territ'ry punk." I heard a couple of 'ooh's, it seemed we had an audience on the roof.  
  
"Too bad deal wid it. It's not your territ'ry either," he countered.  
  
"Nah," I replied, "It's..."  
  
"Wolf's." We said it at the exact same time.  
  
"How'd you know 'im?" I asked, I sure as hell didn't know no Brooky named Spot.  
  
"I didn't, Jack did, told me I could use it cuz 'e wasn't comin' back."  
  
"Yeah, he isn't." I confirmed, "But I knew the kid and when I told him I was comin' down he told me I could use it."  
  
"D'ya wanna fight then, ta see who gets the territ'ry?"  
  
"Why not, but firs' we gotta come to some terms. Like you gettin your guys off da roofs. And no sling shots."  
  
"Sure," he agreed, "C'mon guys off da roof."  
  
"And no tricks."  
  
He grinned and nodded, "Ready?"  
  
"And no cane."  
  
"That all your rules?"  
  
"One on one," I said doing another once over to see what he might have hidden on his person, Brookies aren't known for their trustworthiness, or their fair play.  
  
"Do I get a second?"  
  
"You can have a second, hell, a third for all I care, long's it's one on one."  
  
"Okay, Scout, Hunter," Spot nodded to two burly hitmen behind him, to me he said, "Let's get this started."  
  
A/N: Give me a break you've got to wait a bit, I've can't get to the comp until after the weekend. 


	3. A Secret Revealed

***A/N: Sorry to keep you all waiting, I'm sure you've been anticipating this chapter for ages, everyone loves a good fight, and here we have, Spot, the dirtiest kid in all of New York fighting the new kid on the block, lol, funny how things work out. So, without further ado, your long awaited fight....***  
  
We moved around in a circle, cautious of each other, both unaware of the other's fighting capability, though I did have the advantage, I knew there was a reason Spot was the leader of Brooklyn, and there was only one, and it didn't take me long to find out. Spot was a good fighter, no just dirty fighting, but fair as well, he was good all the way around. He threw the first punch so I twisted out of his reach, he caught this move and tripped me up. I responded by throwing a punch of my own as I fell, catching him squarely in the eye (I am taller than him you know). He recoiled, having not seen the hit, and I regained some ground. I took the offensive instantly, jabbing punches where ever they would find an open spot. He backed up, much to the dismay of his boys who were angry at this newcomer beating their leader. Finally, I stopped to take a breath and Spot took that chance, he kicked me solidly in the stomach and sending me reeling a good ten feet. He was nearly on me when I lifted up my head ever so slightly to try and clear the vision that had been clouded when my head had smacked off the pavement. I could barely see Spot's shadow and locked his feet in a scissor hold and pulled him to the ground, his head slammed harder than mine head because he had been caught off guard, and I gave him one more punch to finish the job.  
  
When they saw Spot go down, both Hunter and Scout charged me, something my head, though fuzzy had told me to prepare for. One of them locked my arms behind my back while the one in front of me took kidney shots. If he had had brass knuckles, I might have been dead, that kid have fists of steel. Hunter, I think the guy's name in front of me was. He backed off for a second, it seemed nearly killing me had winded him. I did an all-footed kick, with Scout behind me supported all my, now air-born weight as I flew in Hunter's direction. He flew back and Scout behind me stumbled. I turned so that we were side by side, our arms still locked and kicked him as hard as I could muster, right in the pants. He went on his knees instantly and released his grip on my hands. I made a point of kneeing him in the head and he crumbled to the ground and went over to continue to beat on a delirious Hunter. When they were thoroughly pounded I turned back to the rest of the Brookies not sure what to expect. A few marched forward and picked up the unconscious people and once they were out of the way, and a few inaudible murmurs were passed through the group ALL the Brooklyn Newsies rushed me. I started to run, but when you are winded and have at least thirty guys on your ass and want to kill you, you tend to look for the quickest exit possible.  
  
I saw an emergency ladder ahead of me in the alley and swung onto it knowing there was no way I could out run these guys. They followed my example so I was forced to jump to the next building. Unfortunately, that was the end of the street, leaving me trapped. I fought hard but thirty plus guys are a little hard to handle, especially when only one girl is fighting them off. That is not fair fighting in the least, but then again, Brooklyn is known for that. I took out at least five guys before I felt a swift blow to the back of my head and everything went black.  
  
I woke up rather dizzily on the top of the building that had seen my demise, and the sun was just setting. I tried my best to stand up and nearly fell over twice, "Shit," I muttered, "I've got to get to the races."  
  
"Yeah right," I heard Spot laugh and it was comforting, at least I hadn't killed him.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Seems I beat up a friend o' Jacky-boy's an' Race here came lookin' for us all, so I figured the best I could do was offer you some hospitality after you beat the shit out o' me."  
  
"Well," I said lying down, "I like Brooklyn policy," and fell asleep before I even realized it. I woke up to Race and Spot arguing about money and Wolf. Or at least I thought it was morning, I couldn't see the sun. "Where's the sun got to?" I asked.  
  
Someone laughed, "Open your eyes Kid." That helped a lot. Me and Race ran to Manhattan as fast as Spot would let me so we got there just as the circulation bell started ringing. After I had bought my papes Dave turned to me, "Hey Fox, you goin' ta' the races?"  
  
"Are you guys?"  
  
"Yeah," Jack replied.  
  
"Alright then." I agreed and continued to what I hoped was my new territory. I sold my papers in what I hoped was record time. When I was done I crossed the bridge into Brooklyn to take a swim sine, believe it or not, Brooklyn has better places to swim.  
  
I took off my backpack and pulled out my mudded dress and cleaned it in a secluded docking area. If times got rough I needed a clean dress to sell. When it was clean, I laid it on a post to dry, then I jumped in the water, after taking my hat off of course. I grabbed some soap and washed out my hair. After I was done, I looked at my reflection in the ripply water. I saw a tall blonde, with short, wavy hair and pretty blue eyes, "Hey there Morgan," I told the reflection with a grin.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Spot looked around at his guys diving into the river off the docks. He got up and left, he needed some piece and quiet. He emerged from behind some buildings and saw a pale blue sundress on a dock post. He crept down to the water and saw someone disappearing underneath the water.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I saw Spot out of the corner of my eye coming towards me, so I dove into the water and swam under the dock. I heard him run onto the dock and stop, and I remembered, my hat! Slowly and quietly, I emerged from the water.  
  
"Where are you?" Spot asked softly and to himself.  
  
I caught a glimpse of him between the boards of the dock holding my hat and eyeing my dress. "Closer than you think," I whispered hoarsely. I'd been chased before, but this was too close for comfort.  
  
I saw him look around and face another dock.  
  
Yes, closer, I thought as he stepped on the edge. In one swift motion I swung onto the dock and knocked Spot into the water from behind. Quickly, I placed the hat he had dropped on my head before he reemerged.  
  
"Hey!" That shout was neither pleased or happy.  
  
I just grinned.  
  
"What's the big--" he trailed off, "Man, I'm gonna kick your ass-just wait till I get up there."  
  
"Sure," I said smiling, hadn't he learned anything from our last fight.  
  
"I'm gonna--"  
  
"I'm waiting."  
  
"Oh right," he said and pulled himself onto the dock, soaking wet.  
  
"Alright," I said and put up my fists.  
  
"Wait a minute," he said looking behind me, "Is that your dress?"  
  
I looked at him and grinned, "Yeah."  
  
"What're you a guy or a girl?"  
  
"What's it matter?"  
  
"If you're a girl I can't fight you."  
  
"Well to be honest, I dress in drag and do the hula."  
  
Spot's jaw dropped, "Are you serious?"  
  
"No. So we, fighting, not fighting?"  
  
"I don't know if you're a girl."  
  
"Well, with your lack of decisiveness, you could be."  
  
Spot growled, "So are you a girl?"  
  
I could already tell he knew I was, but was asking to confirm his own doubts. "You aren't going to tell anyone right?"  
  
He looked solemn and shook his head so I took off my cap and combed back the locks with my fingers. He was now looking at me odd, "Whoa," he smirked.  
  
"You say anything, consider yourself dead."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry about the fights, and the misunderstandings--"  
  
"Move it along Spot b'fore I change my mind and decide to kick your ass."  
  
"Oh, right," he said trying to sound smart. "My guys are just around the corner, they'd tear you to pieces before you have a chance to lay a finger on me."  
  
"Yeah, but then you'd have to live with that on your conscience, killing a girl for wanting to kick your ass," I sighed, trying to sound disappointed, but the effect was lost because Spot was looking pensive. I began to collect my belongings and he came over.  
  
"So are you that girl we met the other day, with the buggy incident?"  
  
"Yeah," I grinned, pausing at the dress. I stuffed it in my bag an headed off the dock past Spot.  
  
He stood still, staring either at me or past me. It wasn't until I got to the corner that he moved. I did too because a shrill, piercing whistle filled the sky.  
  
Damn, I thought, the bulls! The police whistle blew again. I ran atop a roof closest to the sound without giving away my cover. I looked down and saw the Brooklyn newsies had been rounded up and-I gasped silently, Snyder! Snyder and some cops were crowding the boys while Snyder talked, how like him, the chief of police hadn't changed a bit. "Alright, alright, listen up now guys, there's a fugitive--" Snyder trailed off, I could tell his skin was crawling ot be so close to criminals without the metal bars between them.  
  
"Fugitive?" A guy asked, "What's a fugitive?"  
  
A lot of guys laughed.  
  
"A fugitive is a runaway felon," Snyder said.  
  
"What's a felon?" A different guy asked.  
  
"A wanted man." Snyder supplied.  
  
"Okay, continue," a different guy commanded and all of the boys smothered smiles and laughs.  
  
"We have reason to believe a fugitive is running around and may be here in Brooklyn."  
  
"What's 'is name?" We'll take care of 'im for ya." I think that was Scout.  
  
"Well," Snyder said, "He's goes by a few names, Leprechaun and Wolf are the only ones that I'm aware of, he's dangerous too."  
  
"I doubt it." Someone added.  
  
I had to regain my grip on the roof, it had been ages since I had heard those names, how did he know I was here already, I had showed up only yesterday.  
  
***A/N: okay back to downloading and more writing, make sure you all remember to review!*** 


	4. Medda's Place

While I was thinking and trying to recover, Snyder and his men left. I decided to do the same since I a wanted ~cough~ man, and I don't really want to go back to Snyder's House of Refuge, which is really a Juvenile jail, I've been there plenty of times to know not to stay put when Snyder has moved.  
  
Leprechaun and Wolf though, I hadn't heard those names in so long. I was actually surprised he didn't ask about a Morgan Kay, that would have really got me going, I've been out of the city for two to three years now.  
  
When I climbed back down the fire escape, Spot was waiting. "What's your name?" he asked.  
  
"Fox," I said extending a hand.  
  
He shook it, "You heard Snyder's announcement?"  
  
"Yeah, it's a good thing Wolf ain't caming back," I said.  
  
"How do you know?" He asked.  
  
"He moved upstate," I replied.  
  
"How do you know though?" he asked, "did you two have a-ahhh" he paused and swallowed hard, "a personal relationship?"  
  
I thought about how that might work and it made me laugh.  
  
"So how d'you know?"  
  
I settled down and grinned, "He's me." I turned on my heel and started to walk away.  
  
He stared dumbfounded and ran to catch up with me, "So you're Wolf?"  
  
"Shh, not so loud," I whispered.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"A lot of your guys want to beat me up."  
  
"Oh, but are you?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And Leprechaun?"  
  
"Me."  
  
"Why do my guys want to beat you up?"  
  
"Betting."  
  
"On what?"  
  
"Horses."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Through Race, see I'm good at betting so I'd tell Race what to bet on and some of your high-and-mighty boys thought they'd counter Race, cuz he always loses y'know. When Race won they were gonna beat 'im up, but then I told 'em it was me, and they got really pissed."  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"Nothin' I been gone for a long while, and now I'm back."  
  
He stopped, but I kept walking. "Wanna have dinner sometime?" He called.  
  
"Sorry man, I'm here for strictly business. Maybe I'll see ya round though?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
I jogged back to Manhattan to the races, but only Racetrack was there. It turned out the guys had decided to go to the boxing ring instead. After I got directions, I started off. The guys were standing around cheering. Jack it seemed had not changed a bit. I joined him and Dave and Les and watched a few rounds. It wasn't until more guys came that David spoke up. "Hey do either of you know that guy?" He asked.  
  
I looked through the crowd as Jack was doing and spotted a man dressed fully in black with a black bowler hat: Snyder, and he was coming straight at us. "We'd best hit it," I suggested.  
  
"Yeah," Jack agreed. To David and Les he said, "Run, it's the Bulls."  
  
All four of us ran down the nearest alley as the police whistle blew. Snyder was on our tail.  
  
"You take Dave, I got Les," I panted, "Go to Medda's."  
  
He nodded looking rather bewildered. "C'mon Davey," he said heading one way as I picked up Les and carried him another. I set him down a few blocks later in back of Medda's theater. Inside already were Jack and David.  
  
David was yelling, "Why was that guy chasing us, what'd he want, and who are Sullivan and Kay?!"  
  
I gasped at the name, but no one heard me, "What happened?" I asked.  
  
"Snyder, the warden of the jail was chasin' us," Jack informed us.  
  
"And why was that?" David asked in a dangerous tone.  
  
"Well I was hungry, so I stole some food." He said.  
  
"Well who's Sullivan?"  
  
"Dunno, my name's Kelly, Jack Kelly. I dunno anyone named Sullivan, you Fox?"  
  
"Nah," I affirmed.  
  
"What about Kay?"  
  
"Never heard of 'im. Fox?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Probably jus confused us with someone else," Jack replied with a small smile.  
  
"Nah, this mornin' Snyder was in Brooklyn askin' around for Wolf and Leprechaun." I stopped short, Jack was staring at me funny. I didn't have time to say anything because just then Medda rushed in to us.  
  
"Shoo, shoo," she said.  
  
"No," I said as the others looked at me startled, "I gots an open invitation here."  
  
"Wolf?" She asked in genuine surprise.  
  
I laughed nervously, my cover was going to be broken. "No Medda, that's the third time today I been called someone I ain't." I winked at her.  
  
She smiled, "What's your name again?"  
  
"Fox," I replied smiling. She embraced me, "Fox now huh? Wolf, Leprechaun, what next? Morgan?" She whispered in my ear.  
  
I laughed and broke away. Medda was like a mother to be since she used to be a friend of my mother's, and was the most maternal figure I had ever had in my life.  
  
"Do I get a hug too, Medda?" Jack asked.  
  
"Sure," she replied embracing him, "what about your friends?"  
  
David and Les shook their heads.  
  
"Oh," Jack said, "This is Davey," he pointed to the older of the brothers, "and Les." The little boy stepped forward and I smiled. "Guys, this is Medda, a star singer, and she owns the place."  
  
She curtsied, "You guys going to watch?"  
  
Jack glanced at us, "Sure, why not?"  
  
We moved up to some seats as Meta proceeded onto the stage. After the show David brought Jack home for dinner and I went to the races to bet against Racetrack. 


	5. Strike?

***A/N: Since Chronicles Bailey has brought it to mind that it has been ages since I last updated, and I have all this stuff written out, I figured it would only to appease her, so long as she reviews.so here you have it, more Trouble in New York.***  
  
Mr. Pulitzer eyed both his chief advisors, Johnahon and Stietz. They both had ideas to bring up his profit levels. "So," Mr' Pulitzer asked.  
  
"Well," squeaked Johnathon, "I propose uping the price."  
  
"Raising the price for buyers?!" Pulitzer shouted near hysterics, "Outrageous! You'll put me in the poor house!"  
  
"No sir," Johnathon clarified, "Raising the price the newsies pay."  
  
"Bad idea Chief," Stietz said.  
  
"Okay," Johnathon continued, "Salary cuts, starting from the top.."  
  
Pulitzer however was thinking, "Raise the price, what 10 cents? Yes." He counted aloud the numbers, "That does add up."  
  
"Bad idea sir," Stietz repeated.  
  
"60 cents it is then!" Pulitzer finalized. His newspaper business would soon be booming again, outdoing Hearst, his rival paper owner.  
  
***  
  
On the way back to David's house, Jack, David, and Les ran into some rioting trolley worked, blowing up and burning things. At David's apartment where David lived with his family, Jack met David's parents and sister. Les didn't eat dinner, but fell asleep almost instantly. Throughout the meal they talked of the trolley strike and their profits for the day. After dinner Jack left and headed back to the Newsboys Lodge, the Manhattan branch.  
  
***  
  
Race and me split the profits 60-40 of the ten dollars I got him at the races. After, he spent some of it on cigars, then we headed back to the Newsboys Lodge. We met Jack at the front step, he, Race, and Mr. Kloppman, the carer of the kids suited me with a bed. It was the bottom bunk, next to Race's and under Mush's. I took off my pack, strecthed, and pulled off my shoes before hopping into bed. After snuggling comfortably in my first real bed for the past couple of years, I fell asleep, almost as soon as I got situated.  
  
Too early the next morning I was awakened by Kloppman yelling and Mush pushing me. Then suddenly, Race pushed me from the opposite side of the bed, knocking me right into Mush, laying him clean out on the floor. Race laughed, and I did too, after making sure my hat was still on, at a decent angle at least. It was a stupid thing, me pretending to be a boy, but it does have its advantages and disadvantages, but why should it girls aren't any different the boys, I can soak and boy just as good. It just doesn't make sense.  
  
I got up off the floor just as Mush started laughing. The kid maybe older than me, but he sure is slower than me. It may also be because I have an education and he doesn't, anyway...  
  
We all rushed ot the washroom to well, clean, or wash ourselves. After that, the mass that made up us Newsies ran outside to grab a bite to eat. Right across the street were spme nuns handing out food. We stopped over to and got some nourishment and listened to them preach and pray for us even though the majority of us were a bit more smart alec-ey than I would have liked. I nudged Race as we walked away with a meager sandwich and cup of coffee, "We'll splurge later."  
  
He laughed and nodded.  
  
Just then the bell rang. We rushed to the gates and lined up inside. Slowly, we each got turnd down our 100 papers for 50 cents.  
  
After none of us got our papes we all turned to Jack. He sat down and listen to Kid Blink complain while Oscar made fun of him.  
  
"Jack," Kid Blink said, "I live off them hundred papes, I ain't got 'nough money to pay no sixty cents I won't have enough to live on, people just don't buy like they used to, and the headlines are getting harder to manipulate."  
  
"I know," Jack replied.  
  
"They can't do this to me-or us. Jack, c'mon help us." He whined.  
  
"I'm thinkin," was all Jack could say.  
  
Just then Les ran through the crowd, "Give 'im room! Give 'im room, let 'im think!"  
  
I supressed a laugh as Jack smiled. We all waited.  
  
"Hey Jack," Racetrack whispered, "You done thinkin yet?"  
  
I punched him and he laughed.  
  
"What's a good way to retaliate?" Jack spoke up suddenly.  
  
"Strike?" Dave and I suggested un unison.  
  
"Yeah," he agreed.  
  
"Hold on," I said, "I was just jokin."  
  
"Well it was a good idea," Jack retorted standing up and running a hand through his hair, he was still thinking.  
  
"True, true." I agreed. 


	6. Spot's Brooklyn

A/N: Ok, the only reason this story is updated is cuz of Chronicles Bailey, since her email sounding incredibly threatening. No not really, it just made me realize that I've been spending way too much time at Fictionpress.com so please read some of my stuff over there, I'd be muchly pleased and I'll work on this one for the sake of Bailey. So without further ado, so as I do not get another email.  
  
We headed out of the gates to the statue in the square with Dave, Race, and me by Jack's side. "We're on strike right?!" Jack called out.  
  
There was silence.  
  
"Yeah!" Les yelled.  
  
"Jack, we can't go on strike, we don't have a union. They'll think we're just a bunch of rowdy kids." Dave added.  
  
"We're all pretty rowdy." I commented looking at the blank and confused faces of the newsies before us.  
  
"We're a union right?" Jack yelled.  
  
The newsies agreed.  
  
"We're the newsboys union!"  
  
"Yeah!" The newsies agreed.  
  
"And we're on strike right?"  
  
The newsies cheered.  
  
"Alright." Said Dave, "But we're not big a big enough group, people won't listen to us."  
  
"Yeah," Jack agreed, "Alright, listen up! We ain't too big a group so we need more newsies ta help. I'm gonna need sum a ya guys ta go ta da odda newsies an bring our ideas to 'em, like.like."  
  
"Ambassadors?" I suggested the first word that came to mind that made sense.  
  
"Yeah, like ambassadors."  
  
"I got Midtown." Racetrack said and skipped off.  
  
"I gots Harlem," another kid said and booked it.  
  
"Queens!" Shouted another.  
  
So on and so forth until all boroughs and such had been claimed in the city, except Brooklyn.  
  
"So, uh, who wants Brooklyn?" Jack asked.  
  
No one answered, the remaining guys looked around at each other.  
  
"C'mon, Spot Conlon's territ'ry."  
  
Still, no one said anything.  
  
"What you guys 'fraid a Brooklyn?"  
  
All the guys looked uneasy, and some scuffled their feet while others looked away.  
  
"We ain't scared a Brooklyn, it's just that, Spot makes us noivus." A kid said.  
  
"Oh, I see how it is." Jack said, "Well, I ain't scared a Brooklyn, so uh, me an' Dave, an' Fox'll do it."  
  
"Just as soon as you bring our demands to Pulitzer." Dave said matter of factly.  
  
"Oh, right." Jack nodded, and grabbed Les as they entered Pulitzer's building.  
  
The newsies kind of dispersed while we waited for Jack to come back, in the mean time, a man came over to David and me. "You guys look to e on top of things here, what's happening?"  
  
"We're on strike." Dave said honestly.  
  
"We?" The man asked an dI sized him up, I had a bad feeling about him.  
  
"Hold on a sec, sir, may I ask, who're you?" I interrupted fixing him with a glare.  
  
"Oh, right, yes, I'm Bryan Denton, I work for the New York Sun."  
  
Tony nodded, "We, are the newsies, Manhattan area."  
  
Just then, Jack and Les were hurled out the door. Denton interviewed them, then us, then we headed to Brooklyn. Apparently, Jack and Les hadn't been able to see Poulitzer because they didn't have an appointment.  
  
We fooled around on the way there, but when we got the docks where the Brooklyn newsies hung out, we straightened our composure, Dave got more business-like, while I became more threatening. They were jumping off the docks while Spot watched over his men on top of a post.  
  
"Well if it ain't Jack Sprat." Spot said and checked us all out. "An' 'is group a merry men."  
  
I put on my not-so-funny face which involves a forced smile, and squinting of one eye, due to the glare of the sun off the water behind Spot.  
  
"Got some new friends?" Someone asked in what sounded like a mocking tone. If I hadn't been staring down Spot, I might have punched whoever said it.  
  
"Yeah, actually," Jack grinned, "Got, here, Fox," he pulled me in front of him, "an' Dave." Dave stepped forward on cue.  
  
When Jack said my name Spot raised his eyebrow and stared back at me, caught off guard by the fact that my gaze was already on him. Recovering, Spot and Jack spit on their hands and shook them. 


	7. Makin' Spot Think

When they let go, Jack tried to think of how to phrase what he wanted to say, I could see him nearly sweat with all the thought processes going on inside his head. Apparently you don't want to say the wrong thing to Spot Conlon, things could get violent.  
  
Spot made things easy by starting the conversation. "I been hearin' t'ings," Spot said climbing back onto the post that made him not only taller, but more regal looking. "Somet'in about you fellas ova in Manhattan goin' on strike?"  
  
"Yeah, we're on strike." Jack confirmed.  
  
"So wadda ya want then?" Spot asked.  
  
"Well, we ain't exactly big numbas," Jack started, "an' we wanted ta see if we could get y'all ta 'elp us."  
  
"I dunno Jacky-boy." Spot said.  
  
Things did not seem to be going in our favor, and Jack could tell, he didn't know what to say to make Spot change his mind, so I decided to take over. "Now, see 'ere mate."  
  
Spot, who had in the meantime been aiming his sling-shot at a beer bottle ahead of him, looked at me and released, completely missing the bottle as he turned.  
  
I smothered an unprofessional laugh. "Now us in Manhattan, we's got like 2o, t'irty guys, not even, right?"  
  
He nodded, his full attention on me.  
  
"So us strikin', it's not word it, no one'll listen to us, right?"  
  
Spot nodded again.  
  
"The way we fig're it, if we git the whole City's newsies, there'll be tons and people wouldn't be able to ignore us if dere was so many."  
  
Spot nodded again, and it made me kind of nervous that I had his full attention, and he wasn't saying a word.  
  
"So me an' my mates 'ere, we're goin' round to see who'll join is an' who won't. I'm hopin' y'all will, I wouldn't want to have to beat up the likes of you, scabs."  
  
Spot smiled up until I called his men scabs and he scowled outright, "Dat's all dany wid me, but how do I know dis ain't a joke ta you guys, dat dis is da real t'ing? How do I know dat you ain't gonna run when some t'ug comes at you wid a bat?"  
  
"You eidder won't or you'll have ta trust us. About the t'ugs, I ain't gonna worry bout dem if youse is wid us." I was getting my city accent back a lot quicker than I thought I would.  
  
Spot just kind of sat there, thinking things over. I was getting uncomfortable with all the Brookies surrounding us like they were. It was like they were waiting for the command from Spot to jump us, but Spot was in his own little world, looking quite pensive. Getting tired of the silence and the menacing looks I was getting for having talked straight out to Spot instead of the scared underdog tone everyone else did I decided to leave. I walked through the gang of ruffians that enclosed us, "Call me when you've reached your decision, I'll be at the races."  
  
***  
  
When Fox said all he needed to say, Spot let him go. It was confusing to Jack, he'd never seen anyone talk to Spot like that, and expected Spot to hand Fox a death sentence, but instead, he just left, while Spot sat, thinking things over. Fox had a way with words, they just might get the Brooklyn newsies on their side, they would be a valuable asset.  
  
"Well," Jack said rather timidly that Spot might have his guys jump them now that Fox had left, "we'd best be goin' now dat Fox has brought our t'oughts ta mind, let us know your decision." He started to walk through the rough crowd. "Hey, Dave, c'mon. See ya Spot." Together, the two boys walked away unscathed from Brooklyn.  
  
"So wadda ya t'ink?" Spot asked his gang after Jack had left. "Should we join 'em?"  
  
"Well it's a lot a money ta pay fer papes, but I ain't so sure bout them Manhattan kids, we ain't sure if dey's really inta it or not." The burly tanned Scout said.  
  
"Well, I dunno if I even gots da sixty cents, I say we give 'em a try." The equally muscular Hunter suggested.  
  
"Anyone else?" Spot asked. The guys gave their input on the situation and as a group, they all thought about it.  
  
***  
  
Jack and Dave eventually caught up with me as I knew they would if I slowed down enough. "What the hell did you t'ink you were doin' back dere?"  
  
"Me? I was doing what you were supposed ta do. I as tryin' ta persuade your lil friend Spot dere inta helpin us, which was much better dan what you was doin."  
  
"Still..." I could tell Jack was edging for a fight and I was about to give him one worth thinking about.  
  
"At least I got some a da guys to hear an' understand me, so just give it a rest. Me an' Spot we kinda know each odda so I'm kinda in neutral territ'ry widd 'im."  
  
"What? Ok, dat's good."  
  
I laughed, "I really have ta know how he got ta be da head a Brooklyn. Does he 'ave brains or some unknown talent?"  
  
"Oh, dat's simple, he fights da best, as well as da dirtiest in all a Brooklyn, dere's rare few who are better."  
  
I grinned, "C'mon guys we'd best get ta da square, da guys'll be waitin fer us." They nodded and we ran all the way back to the statue in the square.  
  
"So?" Racetrack asked us when he saw us coming at him.  
  
"He ain't sure, he don't t'ink we're serious, can you believe him?" Jack asked the guys incredulously.  
  
"Well, y'know," Mush said, "we may be rushin' inta dis a lil too fast."  
  
"Yeah," agreed Race, "What if we go too deep dis time?"  
  
Jack and me surveyed the crowd. "Y'know," I said, "Maybe Spot's right, maybe dis is a joke ta you guys. We do dis cuz all youse is complainin, an' you guys aren't even serious. Spot was soo right. And Race, how do you know when you go 'too deep' if you ain't never been dere?" 


	8. Striking is Rough Business

***A/N: Just so you all know, this one goes out to Chronicles Bailey, cuz if it weren't for her, you folks'd never get updates, so thank her next time you see her.***  
  
So I got 'em worked up pretty good. They were ready to hand off now. "So youse all inta dis fer sure dis time?"  
  
"Yeah!" They shouted.  
  
"So if we don't buy papes, den no one does. Right?" Jack asked.  
  
"Yeah!" They agreed.  
  
"What about dem fellas who don't listen so good?" Race asked.  
  
"We'll soak 'em" Jack replied with a grin.  
  
The newsies cheered, happy to beat up anybody, leastwise to have an excuse to fight. They especially loved scabs, mostly cuz they aren't all that great at fighting. I looked over at Davey, who didn't look so hot. I was thinkin' by now, he wasn't really cut out for this whole newsies business thing. But still, I had to treat the kid right for trying. "What's up?" I asked him, reaching him the same time Crutchie did. Crutchie is by far the coolest gimp I may have ever met. His leg has been broken ever since I've known him, but he never lets it get him down, and is always the most energetic out of the bunch.  
  
"First fight?" Crutchie asked.  
  
When he nodded I couldn't help but laugh. "Don' worry, you'll git used ta it, 'specially hangin' round da likes a us."  
  
Davey managed a grin. I could give him points for cuteness I suppose, but I am totally not down with his attitude.  
  
"Jus stick close ta me. I'll cover ya good enough."  
  
We rushed the gates and stood at the base of the ramp. The first kid who came down was pretty smart and dropped his papes, joining our crowd. We look pretty big in the confines of the Circulation Center. The next few guys that came down were smarter. They came down empty-handed and disappeared among us. The next guy was pretty tall carrying a good stack of papes. He tried between Jack and Race, and got pushed back, apparently he didn't see that we meant business. Then he tried between me and Mush, and sent him back a good few feet. He smiled wryly at us and dropped his papers at Jack's feet, in a faux-defeated manner. He sent Jack reeling back with a blow to his stomach and we all laughed when Jack pounced forward in response, ready to fight. They started the first official all- out fist fight between us and the scabs. I took the first couple of little ones that jumped me, and in the process taught Davey how to fight. He's not all that good, but it'll keep him alive.  
  
We had the upperhand on the whole fight. And after the fight was looking in our favor for sure the fighting came to an unexpected halt. Wiesel had called the police, and the whistle resounded through the dead- end street. People who couldn't fight all that well reduced themselves to ripping up the papers on the wagons. Crutchie was among them. The shreds floated to the ground as we hit it out of there. Race and I called to Crutchie, and in the first time I've ever known him, Crutchie's crutch became a hindrance, and he lost that smile as the bulls attacked from the front, with Oscar and Morris taking up the rear.  
  
I met the guys at the tracks and told them what I had seen. They wre all pretty ripped, and Jack decided that he and Davey should go to the refuge. They wanted to bring me along, but I really didn't ever want to go back there. Even if it was to help Crutchie. There was no way, not after everything I had been through there.  
  
Racetrack and I spent the rest of the day betting, and split the 10 bucks we'd made. Later that evening, right before we were going to leave I made an escape to the bathroom. As I deliberated which rest room I wanted to use, I ran into.Scout? He wanted to talk to me about Spot? Mad weird.  
  
"Yeah?" I asked as he dragged me into a corner. I was getting kinda creeped out. A Brooklyn thug in mainstream Manhattan, I must have been in some real shit.  
  
"Spot wants to talk to you. Meet him at da corner a Main and 43rd," he informed me bluntly, very suspicious which his shifty eyes and tight hold on my arm.  
  
"Not Jack?" I asked. Maybe Scout was just confusing me for someone else?  
  
"No, not Jack, you."  
  
"Oh, okay." I replied, shit, what did I do to get myself a date with Spot, was he gona beat the shit outta me for the other day? "What time?"  
  
"7:00 sharp." He replied. "Don' be late."  
  
"I'll be there." I replied, contemplating if I really would be. I waited for him to leave before battling again, and chose the ladies room. Upon my return I told Race about my run-in with Scout, "Something with Spot?" I asked him. "Know anythin'?"  
  
He laughed, "Bout as much as you I guess. Jus' be on yer guard I guess, he's an odd cookie, them Irish."  
  
I laughed, yeah, the Irish.  
  
"Still, you better be careful, he's not head a Brooklyn fer nothin yanno."  
  
"Don't worry, I can handle myself, I beat 'im last time."  
  
"Yeah, an' he was playin fair, dat ain't his style. Keep on yer guard." 


End file.
